The Final Leap
Previously in Flying into Fear, despite being over the age of 50, I took a leap – literally – by enrolling in trapeze school after reading about it in an airline magazine.
The training began simply enough with safety protocols, basic commands, and explanations of fundamental techniques. But that was all on the ground.
Once we moved onto the trapeze, things became much more demanding.
“Everything has to be done with split-second precision,” Tom, my drill sergeant-like trainer explained. “There’s no time to second-guess yourself.”
Finally, the time comes for me to fly from one trapeze bar to another and grasp the hands of Randy, a trained aerial artist who will catch me.
I take off and swing upside down toward Randy. As I reach for him, CRASH!
My bell is rung, and I have no clue what happened. I’m dangling from the aerial support wire, 60 feet up, like a fish on a hook. My head is spinning and my ribs hurt like hell. They lower me down to the net, where I collapse.
The trainer, Tom is immediately in my face. “Zann! Can you hear me, Zann?”
“W-What happened?” is all I can muster.
Tom screams, “You weren’t listening to me! You let go of the bar with your legs before Randy had you!”
I’d had a midair collision with Randy at full speed.
“Is Randy all right?” I gasp.
“Yes,” Tom says irritably. “Take five, Zann.”
I step away and gather my thoughts. I begin to make a compelling case for quitting. “What am I trying to prove? Even with the safety equipment I still got jacked up! “
This is my moment of truth. Right now, I have two options. Quit or give it one final try.
“No, I have nothing to prove.” But then I flash back to when I was that young gymnast. How many times did I attempt an aerial before I got it right? Thirty? Forty? But I remember the exhilaration when I finally landed it – because although it seemed impossible, that little girl’s enthusiasm wouldn’t let me quit trying.
Ten minutes later, Sarah, (the assistance on the platform) connects my safety line again. This time I look her square in the eyes and say with conviction, “I’ve got this.” Sarah nods, and I can see she believes me.
Sarah connects my safety line. We lock eyes. “I’ve got this,” I repeat, and this time, I truly believe it.
On the 60-foot platform once more, I position myself for my final attempt and call for the bar.
“Listo! … Ready! … Hep!”
I fly out. Hook my legs. Release my hands. I’m swinging upside down, scanning the air for Randy. Tom’s commands are rapid and precise:
“Hook your legs – Hands off! – Watch for Randy – Extend your arms – Grab Randy’s – Release your legs … NOW!”
This time, it clicks.
Randy grabs my arms. We’re flying in perfect sync. At the apex of the swing, he lets out a “Woo-hoo!” and on Tom’s command, Randy releases me.
I drop into the net, triumphant.
Back on solid ground, Tom smiles for the first time all day. “Way to go, Zann. That was strong.”
Strong. The word reverberates through me.
I left Circus School that day with a renewed sense that anything, mental or physical, is possible. Even though it was only midafternoon when I got home, I uncorked a special bottle of wine I’d been saving for such an occasion and toasted my courage. I also took two Advil and passed out on the sofa!
The next day, X-rays revealed two fractured ribs. I couldn’t sleep on my left side for a month. But what I lost in comfort, I made up for in a new way of thinking. My final swing was not about overcoming a physical limitation. It was mental … Mindset.
I revisit that moment often – whenever I feel stuck, overwhelmed, or doubtful. I channel the elation of that catch, the surge of belief that powered me through the air. That memory is a fuel source. I relive it, and I move forward.
Since then, I’ve taught clients to do the same. After every win – no matter how small – I tell them: “Write down how you feel. Not just what you did, but what it felt like to do it.”
Later, when you’re staring down something scary or uncertain, revisit those feelings. Don’t just recall the facts – recall the power.
Then say, “I got this!” – and get going.
I didn’t run away to join the circus after my experience. But I did graduate from Circus School with a Ph.D. in resiliency.
And that, to me, is worth every bump, bruise, and broken rib.